Didn't We Almost Have It All?
by babyblue90
Summary: Estranged almost-lovers Franky Doyle and Bridget Westfall struggle to get through their past...can they move on or are they forever doomed to wonder what could have been?


It'd been four years since I'd walked out of those prison gates. Four years since I'd seen her. Every time I thought about her, which despite my best efforts not to was nearly every day, I felt a painful tightness in my chest as if someone was gripping my heart and twisting it as tightly as possible whenever her face flashed through my mind. Sometimes the pain felt good. Or maybe it was just the fact that I could still feel something, anything, after all that had happened to me that felt so good. Other times, it hurt badly enough that more often than not I would have gladly welcomed death. Maybe than I could get some relief. Or maybe not.

"You know," Bea sighed from her seat next to me, "Typically when you invite someone for drinks, it's because you want to talk to them and not the voices in your head."

I smiled despite myself and elbowed her playfully in the ribs. She smiled back and looped her arm around my neck, nodding towards the stage. Her former prison wife, or girlfriend, or whatever the hell she was these days was on an elevated platform with a bunch of other blondes dancing to some god-awful pop music.

"How hot is she?" Bea smirked. I rolled my eyes and shoved her off.

"Guess it's a good thing I was out of the picture when she got in," I teased. "You did good, Red."

The stupid song finally ended and the young blonde, admittedly very hot, jumped down and strutted over, wrapping her arms around Bea's neck and pulling her in for a deep kiss. I fought back the feeling of anger suddenly bubbling up inside me and quickly looked away, counting my breaths and trying to rationalize in my mind. I had to keep it together. Just because I was miserable didn't mean I had to wish everyone else was to. Clearing my throat loudly, I forced myself to turn back to them and put on my best devil may care smile.

"If you two lovebirds are done trying to eat each others faces off, that'd be great" I announced loudly. Bea blushed deeply and pulled back, but Allie, refusing to allow any more distance than necessary between them, kept one arm firmly secured around Bea's waist.

"Jealous?" she remarked cheekily, her blue eyes sparkling playfully.

"Please," I snorted. "I don't get jealous. I could have any woman in this bar."

"Oh?" she challenged, cocking her eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Have you told your girlfriend nothing about me?" I complained to Bea, letting fake disappointment seep into my voice. She laughed and pulled Allie in closer.

"You know I hate admitting when Franky's better than me at something," Bea began, "But if there's one thing about Franky Doyle it's that she like a woman whisperer or something. She's the expert in getting women to do what she wants."

"Well I beg to differ on that one," Allie grinned, pressing her body against Bea's.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, announcing that I couldn't take another second of their lovey dove shit without losing my lunch. I walked over to the bar and ordered my fifth scotch of the night. Probably not the brightest idea considering I had to drive home, but what the hell right? The worst that could happen would be getting sent back to prison, but how bad would that be really? Maybe than I would be able to see her. It was a stupid thought to have, especially drunk, but I couldn't help but entertain it. She'd be pissed sure, but even that might be fun. Maybe than she'd feel just a tiny fraction of the anger I'd felt when she'd left me to fend for myself. Or maybe she'd be happy just to see me. I wasn't sure which scenario was more appealing.

"I sure hope you're not planning on driving tonight," a familiar voice commented behind me.

I spun around, nearly dropping my glass in surprise. I had found myself face to face with Mr. Jackson, one of my favorite former guards at Wentworth. Despite trying to look stern, he couldn't help but smile and envelop me in a brief hug which I gladly returned.

"Mr J!" I exclaimed cheerfully. "How the hell are ya?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, nodding to the drink in my hand. "Drowning your post-prison sorrows?"

"Maybe," I smiled. "Maybe I'm just homesick."

Jackson rolled his eyes and took a seat next to me, ordering a beer for himself. He looked almost exactly as I'd remembered him, right down to the leather jacket and biker boots. The only evidence that any time had passed for him was a slight crinkling around his eyes.

"So," I began, "Vinegar Tits still governor?" Jackson smiled despite himself.

"Vera," he emphasized, "no longer works for Wentworth. Put in for a transfer fro the U.S. and moved 3 weeks later. Haven't heard from her since."

"Holy shit!" I nearly shouted. "The U.S.? The Freak must have done a number on her that she had to leave the country. So who's the new Governor?"

"You're looking at him," Jackson smirked proudly. "Smiles is my deputy."

"That's fantastic, congrats Mr. J!"

"Thanks," he smiled. "Enough about me. What have you been up to? Respecting your freedom I hope?"

"Since when do I not obey the rules?" I asked innocently, earning an eye roll.

"Fine," he shrugged. "Don't tell me than. Just stay out of trouble and if you can't do that, don't get caught. If you get sent back, I won't go easy on you."

I raised my glass in acknowledgment and he gave me small smile, clicking his beer against my glass. We sat like that for awhile, in comfortable silence. Him drinking his beer, and me drinking my Scotch, both reflecting on how much had changed over the years. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, sizing him up. He seemed in a fairly good mood. Maybe I could ask him…

"THERE you are!" I groaned as Allie came bouncing up to me, cheeks flushed and a gleaming smile on her face. Jesus, was this girl ever not happier than a junkie on gear?

"Novak?"

"Mr. Jakcson!" Allie exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, drinking" he replied, looking like a deer in headlights. I couldn't help but laugh.

"It's a reunion," I remarked. "Felons only. Red's here too."

"Smith's here?" Jackson asked, looking surprised. "I didn't know she drank."

"Uh Mr. J, we were in prison remember? No one drank." I pointed out.

"You did," he shot back. I snorted, knowing full well he had me on that one. Between me and Booms, Jackson himself must have recovered enough booze to stock a small bar for a lifetime.

"Bea said she needs to talk to you," Allie interrupted, pulling on my arm. "It's important. Come on!"

I sighed, reminding myself that killing Red's annoying puppy-like girlfriend was not in anyone's best interest. Giving Mr. Jackson a lazy, two-fingered salute I allowed myself to be pulled through a throng of sweaty, alcohol-infused bodies towards a table in the corner. Bea was leaned over it, both palms on the table, looking as if she was trying to catch her breath. I hurried over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Whoa Red, you alright?" I asked, genuinely concerned. She nodded, waving me away before slowly straightening up.

"Sorry, liquor caught up with for a moment there," she grinned, straightening out her shirt.

"What was so important you pulled me away from my Kumbuya with Jackson?" I demanded.

"Jackson's here?"

"That's what I just said didn't I?" I snapped. "What's up?"

Bea rolled her eyes at the tone of my voice and just grabbed my arm, leaving me no choice but to follow suit. I gritted my teeth together, mentally making a list of the reasons returning to Wentworth for homicide was a bad idea. I was getting really tired of being pulled around. We got to the bar where Bea sat me on the bar stool and turned me to face her, grinning at me like she just read me off the winning numbers to the fucking lottery.

"What?" I asked exasperatedly. "Just tell me."

"Look over my shoulder," she insisted. "Black jacket, white shirt."

I rolled my eyes and did as she instructed-and froze. You know how they say when your about to die, your life flashes before your eyes and you either feel peaceful or panicky? And the peace is the best thing you've ever felt, but the panic is the worst? I had a feeling I was experiencing the panicky part, which quickly tripled the second she looked up and met my eyes.

A wave of emotions crossed over her face in what could have only been a few seconds but what felt like a few years. As if time was torturing me, forcing me to watch every ounce of shock, happiness, pain, and lastly guilt that crossed her heartbreakingly beautiful features. The hand was back in my chest again, tightening on my heart and twisting, cutting off my oxygen supply. I would have gladly welcomed death at that moment and maybe even would have gotten it if Red and her stupid lapdog hadn't of snapped me out of it.

"Franky? Franky!"

Time was moving normally again and I forced myself to look away from her face and into Bea's. She was gripping my shoulders with both hands, staring at me with an expression a mother might have when her child was sick.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You look like you've just seen the Grim Reaper."

"I _wish_ it was the Grim Reaper I saw," I spat out. "Anything would have been better than her. Why the _fuck_ would you do that to me? Are you that _fucking_ stupid?"

"What?" Bea yelped, looking shocked. "But you two-I thought-"

"You thought what?" I hissed. "That me and the prison psych were gonna live happily ever after? Don't you think if I wanted to talk to her, it would have happened in the four years since I've been released?"

"Well I-"

" _Fuck_ you Red," I snarled. "I'm outta here."

Grabbing my jacket and ignoring the mixture of shock and guilt on Bea's face, I slid off my barstool and shouldered my way through the crowd and towards the door. Four years I'd spent trying to forget the past but one drink with the wrong person, and BAM! Half the people from it come flooding from everywhere like some kind of disease. This really was a sick joke on the Universe's part. As if I hadn't done my time for my sins, now I had to relive them all over again?

I stumbled to my car, cursing as I tried to get my key in the keyhole and making a mental note to get one of those beepers so I wouldn't have this problem. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. I really shouldn't be driving anyway. Finally giving up, I shoved my keys in my pocket and slumped against my car, holding my head in my hands.

 _What a fucking night to be alive._

I froze at the all too familiar sound of clicking heels making their way for me. Praying to any deity bothering to listen, I willed her to stay away from me. Surely she wasn't that stupid. But than again, this did seem to be the night for people to make shockingly dumb decisions so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when Bridget hesitantly approached me, an uncertain look on her face. She crossed her arms and showered despite that fact that it was over 70 degrees out and looked at me earnestly, as I stared cooly back.

"Can I help you?" I asked, barely recognizing the coldness of my own voice. This wasn't me. This was old me. But hey, whatever it takes to get through a conversation that was sure to haunt me a lifetime.

"Franky-"

"Don't bother," I interrupted. "And don't you dare come any fucking closer. I got nothing to say to you."

"Then just listen," she pleaded, leaning forward as if she was going to take another step and then seemingly thinking better of it.

"Good choice," I commented. She sighed and looked down, still crossing her arms tightly against her chest as if she'd fall apart otherwise.

"Look I know I've made some mistakes," she began, "And I know I hurt you. Badly. But-"

"You didn't _hurt_ me," I corrected. "You pissed me off. And when I get pissed off, I don't get over it. _Ever."_

"We both know that's not true," Bridget sighed, sounding tired. "You can call it whatever you want. Maybe I didn't hurt you. But I…compromised what we had and that was an enormous mistake."

"Ya think?" I asked sarcastically.

"There's-there's a lot I really want to say to you," Bridget admitted. "Things I should have said before and things that I should say now after-after what happened."

"Is that what we're calling it?" I sneered. "What _happened?_ What happened was you made me think that I could trust you, you _told me_ I could trust you and that you had my back, but the second shit got real you split without so much as a 'well you would have been a nice fuck!'"

"You know I thought more of you than that!"

"Do I?"

Without realizing it, I'd began to close the distance between Bridget and myself during my rant and now we were standing practically nose to nose. She was flushed, from anger or something more I was unsure, but I didn't particularly care at the moment. Even with my infamous thousand yard stare, she stared determinedly back, not wavering a bit. I tried to ignore the sweet fragrance of her perfume invading my nostrils, or the way the hair on the back of my neck raised when she bit her lower lip.

"I cared about you," she whispered softly. "It may have been a physical attraction initially but it developed deeper the more time we spent together."

The childlike question slid off my lips before I could stop it.

"Did you love me?"

Bridget's sudden intake of breath let me know I hit a nerve. Something flashed across her eyes but it was gone before I could figure out what it was. This was it. Now or never. The question was out there and I couldn't take it back. Which meant she couldn't get out of answering it. Here we were, standing toe to toe in a parking lot, drunk, raw and exposed, finally saying what should have been said years ago.

"Yes," she admitted. "Yes, I loved you Franky. I still do. So why won't you let me?"

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, but not necessarily in a bad way. I'd been wondering the answer to that question for years and now that I finally had it, I didn't know what to do with it. I was so angry and despite saying I wasn't, I was hurt, but I couldn't ignore the fact that the woman I'd once loved was finally saying it. I'd spent those first few years after being released hating her for making me love her, even after leaving me, and now it was like the fire inside me had been replaced with cold snow. The anger wasn't there anymore. But I didn't know if the love was there either. If she would have just _said_ something all those years ago when I needed to hear it, maybe I would have realized that it wasn't so easy for her to walk away and never come back. Maybe I could have forgiven her, just a little. I wouldn't even know how to begin to try at this point. Much less if I wanted to.

"Why won't I let you?" I repeated. "I tried. I tried and I tried and I tried but you just insisted-"

"You were in prison!"

"You could have still said something!" I shouted. "You could have just told me, at least before you left instead of all that bullshit about trying to protect me!"

"I _was_ trying to protect you!"

"Well I protected myself!" I shot back. " _I_ did that without any help from you or anyone else! I didn't need you than and I sure as _shit_ don't need you now. So you know what? You can take all your feelings and your _love,_ and you can shove them up your arse but I am warning you Westfall, don't fucking come near me again!"

Bridget swallowed hard and took few steps back, looking as if she'd been slapped in the face. I forced myself to keep a passive face and ignore the way the hurt in her eyes made my heart hurt just as much. She slowly nodded before turning around, shoulders slumped and shuffling back towards the bar.

 _To Be Continued…_


End file.
